26 August 2010

He is unbelievable with is dramatics. One of his favorite things to do if he is on the bed or on the couch is to drop his toy deliberately off the bed or behind the couch. Before it even hits the ground he starts whining and staring at me to pick it up. At first, not quite caught on to his manipulations, I would pick it up and give it back to him. Not before too long, I noticed he would consciously get his toy, jump up onto the couch, stand on his hind legs, make sure I was looking, and then drop it over the back of the couch. Then the whining proceeds. That sneaky little mudda.

And of ALL the other toys laying around, he just so happens to NEED that one. Then it becomes a battle between us where I refuse to get it for him and his whining becomes more high-pitched. He eventually comes over, gets in my lap with his face in my face, cocks his head so he's glaring at me with his good eye, and emphasizes his whine. NO! I will NOT get your toy! You have 7 others laying in the middle of the floor and they are just as stinky as that one. Now go play!

Then he paces back and forth on the couch trying to show me that his anxiety is building and building and there are not enough apple bites in the world that could solve this crisis. Well, maybe a couple with a side of baby carrots, but that's IT! "No, mother, I will NOT let you rub my eyes or smash your face on my face. I will NOT let you cuddle me and make me laywith you til I fall aslee.....ZZzzzzzzzzz...zzzzzz...zzzz...zz...

Thirty minutes later he wakes up and I'm thinking he's forgotten about the toy for now. I mean, he manages to forget that he ate half a roll of toilet paper that I was very clear about not doing. But no, he gets back on the couch to resume his soap opera drama. What's worse, he has a whole act put together. He throws his stumpy little paws into the air although they barely go above what should be his shoulders. Then he flings his head back and wails, "Why?!?! WHYYYYYY?!?! In the name of everything that is holy and sacred, why have you done this to me Vishnu?!?!?!"

"Um, since when did you become Hindu?"

"Since you gave me that Star of David bracelet."

"That makes no sense."

"Neither does the fact that you make sleep in a bed shaped like Noah's Ark and recite Confucian ethics before I fall asleep."

"Honey, that's just so my son grows up to tolerate and be open-minded. Now go get your Wiccan scepter and write me a poem about how you are one with the earth."

"No, I need my squeaky hotdog!! It gives me inner peace and makes all my chakras line up so I can get to Temple on time."

"I don't know what those words are that are coming out of your mouth. Help me get this bread out of the oven so we can get to the Mennonite Relief Sale on time."

Instead, he resumes his whines, paces back and forth and then turns to the couch and extends his paw dramatically with a longing look on his face: Til we are together again, my love, my dear sweet squeaky. Til we meet again...I will not rest until I can once again carry you around in my mouth and am ready to stuff you under the ottoman. Then and only then will I be able to curse the day that that damn L. Ron Hubbard ever was able to convince John Travolta and Tom Cruise that they had aliens in their bellies.

He's a dramatic little mudda who just wore himself out, so he's sleeping peacefully on his back exposing himself to the world as I study and apply to more scholarships.